


Never That Bad

by Miso



Category: SCTV (Canada TV)
Genre: (guys here for like one sentence but hes here), (its not the f-slur tho), Emotional Baggage, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Panic Attacks, also he has a mild nervous breakdown but at this point thats nbd, floyd basically makes a public service announcement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 22:59:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12851343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miso/pseuds/Miso
Summary: Floyd's editorial is important but cuts straight to the bone. Good thing Earl's here.





	Never That Bad

**Author's Note:**

> and now back to your regularly scheduled floyd is horribly mentally ill fics. :C i'm a little worried about how earl's voice comes across in this one. i was trying for supportive but i feel like maybe he sounds a little manipulative which is 0% the case D: also guy caballero is a dick but i LOVE his character and i would love to do more w him so i might try that at some point. maybe theres smth going on w him and bill needle idk. :P

Coming back to work after surviving a suicide attempt had been hard enough without worrying about addressing his absence on-air.

Floyd couldn't believe he'd kowtowed to Caballero's suggestion that he take the editorial on tonight's 6 o'clock, much less that he'd done it without a fight when he heard why the boss wanted him to take it instead of Earl. "You know," Guy had begun, in that quinessentially Caballero voice that was somehow soothing and sly at the same time, "Since you tried to kill yourself, and everything, maybe you could give the viewers at home a little talk about... not doing that."

It was all laid out for him. All Floyd had to do was read his copy, hope Earl didn't butt in, and try not to lose his composure on-air. Easy peasy. Idiot proof.

The news broadcast was nothing to write home about, a standard back-and-forth of minute items that probably sent most of their audience straight to sleep. A blessing, probably, considering fewer people would be conscious for Floyd baring his soul on the air.

"Tonight's editorial will not be read by this reporter," Earl began, folding his hands demurely on his items. "Tonight, our editorial comes from the point of view of my friend and colleague, Floyd Robertson, and, um, I understand it's a sensitive and important topic, Floyd?"

Floyd forced a smile, hoped the fact that it was fake wasn't too obvious, and turned to the camera. "Indeed it is, Earl." His smile faded as he cleared his throat and straightened out his papers. "Um... a few weeks ago, many of you may have noticed that I wasn't present on the evening news like I have been for the past few years." He swallowed all of the saliva in his mouth and glanced into the camera.

"While, obviously, I'm back, I failed to mention the reason for my absence when I returned. The truth is that I... I made an attempt on my own life. Luckily, I was found and taken to the hospital before any serious, permanent damage could set in, and physically, I'm going to be absolutely fine." Floyd shuffled his papers nervously. "Mentally, I... I have to admit that I'm still struggling. I, um... I wanted to come clean about the reason for my disappearance from the news desk in order to get a message out to the viewing public. Anyone can be impacted by a mental illness. It doesn't always have a reason to set in, but... you never know who's suffering in silence and not saying anything about it because they don't want to be labeled crazy, or a complainer, or a faker. All of those have been directed at me in the past, and they all cut deeply."

He cast Earl a glance and caught him smiling warmly at him out of the corner of his eye. His faltering confidence returning, Floyd took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on his copy for a moment, before looking directly into the camera. "If anyone out there is feeling like suicide is the only way out, I want to personally extend help to you. I promise, there's hope and help available to you. Reach out. Please. Nothing is that bad."

***

"I'm so proud of you," Earl whispered quietly, cradling Floyd tight and stroking his hair as the couple lay in bed together, a tangle of limbs and sheets. "You did something really brave tonight."

Floyd made a quiet noise of assent, laying his head on Earl's chest with a content sigh. "Caballero put me up to it," he whispered back, trying to hold back the crushing terror that was encroaching on him. He wasn't up to a panic attack. Not tonight. He was already emotionally exhausted. "Half of Melonville probably thinks I'm a lunatic now."

"You know what? Let them think that." Earl's fingers carded through Floyd's hair again, pausing to twirl a lock around one of his digits. "If you saved one life tonight, I think a few people thinking you're nuts is a small price to pay."

"But-"

"Shhh." Earl unwound his fingers from Floyd's hair and gently cupped his face. "I don't want you to argue with me. Please, baby, just this once, listen to what I'm trying to say. First of all, you live in Melonville, not in Colorado, and I promise you more people thought it was insanely brave of you to admit to that and not just... regular insane."

Floyd gave Earl a half-hearted "seriously?" look, but didn't argue.

"Second, I think if even one person heard that and got help instead of hurting themselves tonight, you were completely in the right."

Earl kissed Floyd's forehead gently.

"And third?" A kiss to Floyd's nose. "Even if they think you're crazy..." His cheek. "I know better..." his other cheek. "And crazy or not, I still think you're the greatest guy on the planet." His lips.

The final kiss lingered, long and slow, and Floyd swore his heart was about to swell out of his chest from the sheer amount of _pure love_ behind it. As they parted, he felt tears well in his eyes, and Earl's expression changed from tender to concerned. "Baby, are you okay? Did I say something wrong?"

Floyd swallowed around the lump in his throat and breathed, shakily, "... Why do you love me so much? I don't deserve this." He took a deep breath, trembling, in an attempt to stop the sobs that wanted to come. "Look at me. I have every goddamn reason to love myself but I _can't_. I have a good job. I have a steady relationship. I have hobbies that I'm good at. I have a nice house and friends that love me, and... and I still hate myself." Floyd didn't notice the tears had spilled over until they fell onto his hands. "I still hate myself, and I drink until I black out and then some because I want to be literally anyone else. I still get the absolute shit beaten out of me whenever I see my dad even though I'm taller and stronger than he is because I don't have the balls to hit an old man even though he hit me first. I'm forty years old and I cried because the vending machine in the cafeteria was out of Hershey bars the other day."

"Floyd..." Earl wrapped his arms around his lover tightly, giving him a gentle squeeze. He grabbed the blankets and cocooned them both in them as well as he could. Warmth and pressure always seemed to soothe Floyd whenever his anxiety started getting the better of him. "None of that means you don't deserve to be loved."

"Earl." Floyd swallowed hard, whimpered, and pulled away from the embrace. "I-I know your base response to anything bad I say about myself is to tell me it's not true, but... have you ever considered that maybe it is?" He wiped his own tears away this time. "Maybe... maybe I really am just a useless piece of shit. Maybe I really don't deserve someone like you, because all I do is fuck up and hurt the people I care about and cause problems."

"Floyd-"

"Maybe I am just a _worthless, disgusting fairy_ who's just an embarrassment to his family and friends and maybe I should've taken more pills than I did or drank more of the whiskey so I wouldn't be sitting here wasting oxygen people that deserve it could be using." Floyd let out a hiccuping sob, shuddering. "Maybe all I did tonight was show people what a fuck-up I am because I can't even _die right_. Everyone dies, and I can't even do it right. Maybe I-"

"Stop it!" Earl snapped, and Floyd paused dead in his tracks. Earl had never, not once, raised his voice at him before, and the sheer shock of it caused him to recoil back into himself. Earl took a deep breath. "Sorry for yelling, but... god, I can't stand hearing you talk about yourself like that." He gently took Floyd's hands in his. "I _love you_ , Floyd, and nothing- fucking nothing- can change that. I don't care how many times I have to tell you you're not worthless or useless or disgusting or a monster. I'll tell you until I'm blue in the face and my throat is raw. I won't- I can't- sit here and let you talk about yourself like you're the worst person on Earth when I love you more than anything else."

Earl paused, tears brimming in his eyes. Taking a deep breath to steady his emotions, he looked off into space for a moment as an idea came to him. "Hang on a second." He got out of bed; Floyd whimpered quietly and reached for him reflexively.

"Don't go," he whispered, breathless. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Shhh." Earl took Floyd's hand, threading their fingers together. "Shhhh, baby. I'm not going anywhere. I want to show you something." He helped Floyd to his feet, pulled him to the full-length mirror near their wardrobe, and stood him in front of it. "Tell me what you see."

"... Me."

"No, Floyd. Tell me _what you see_ when you see yourself."

Floyd swallowed around the lump growing in his throat, staring at his reflection briefly. "I... I see someone who hates me, and someone I hate back." He wrung his hands. "I see a tired, sad old man. I see a receding hairline and bags under my eyes and enough baggage to start my own Samsonite ripoff." He looked into his reflection's eyes. "... I see my father." He felt the burning tears prick at his eyes again. "I have his eyes. I have his jawline. I look so much like him, Earl. You've never met him, but... we're practically clones. Every time I look in the mirror, I see... I see him staring back at me."

Earl nodded, but kept quiet, his arms locked around Floyd's waist.

"... I don't like who I see. I don't want to be him." The tears poured down Floyd's cheeks like a dam had burst. His voice trembled as he continued. "I... I wanna be anyone else. Literally anyone else. It would be better than being stuck like this."

Earl was still silent. One arm stayed around Floyd's waist. The other hand gently went up to wipe the tears that were currently streaming down his cheeks away with a touch so feather-light that it gave Floyd goosebumps. Earl was so gentle. So soft and understanding and loving. So good to him. And he didn't deserve any of it.

If the tears before were a dam breaking, this was a goddamn tidal wave. Floyd dug his fingernails into his forearm in an attempt to fight them back, every muscle in his body shaking. He was practically vibrating in Earl's arms. He bit his tongue and tried to focus on the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Earl was still silent, eerily quiet, like he knew something Floyd didn't. "Say something," Floyd whispered, his voice strained against the sobs he stubbornly refused to cry. "Please. Please say something, Earl."

"Let it out, Floyd," Earl responded, tightening his grip on his lover's waist. "You're holding back. I know there's more you need to say." It was Floyd's turn to be quiet, chest and shoulders heaving with ragged gasps as he struggled not to let himself weep like he needed. Earl's voice was low and gentle, soothing, just a bit above a whisper. "I'm not going to judge you. I'm not going to hurt you. Let it all out."

Floyd's steadfast silence, broken up only by choked, shaking breaths, slowly crumbled. It started with his chin trembling, then his eyes burned with fresh tears that he finally couldn't hold back. Earl was still holding him, resting his chin on his shoulder, his broad chest pressed against Floyd's back. "I'm here," he breathed, "It's okay. Cry. You need to."

The admittedly weak facade of stoicism Floyd had brought up to protect himself finally crumbled, and Earl had to admit he hadn't quite been ready for it. Floyd _screamed_ , clearly a sound that had been boiling in the deepest part of his psyche for a while. It was wordless, rage and sorrow given life, and as he let it out- Earl was half afraid the sheer decibel level would shatter the mirror, his glasses, the windows- Floyd sunk to his knees. Earl followed him down, holding him tight. Floyd's wordless cry finally tapered off and he was left sobbing, harsh and loud and ragged, like a frightened child. His hands gripped at the shag carpet, tugged at the deep pile of the fabric like he was trying to rip it up. Earl didn't try to hush him. Soothe him, sure, but Floyd needed to get all of this out.

"That's it, baby," Earl whispered as Floyd sobbed, adjusting them to where he was seated against the wall and Floyd was in his lap, crying into his chest. "Let it out. Cry as much as you need. I'm here. I'll always be here."

Floyd's cries gradually, gently calmed. First to sobs, still harsh and ragged, then to quiet whimpers, and finally to silence with occasional shudders and straggling whimpers escaping him. True to his word, Earl stayed in that same position with only minor alterations for comfort's sake, Floyd's face buried in his chest. "You okay?" he asked quietly once the tears seemed to have mostly stopped. Floyd responded with a muffled, noncommital "mmh" noise and gripped Earl's shirt. "I'm taking that as a no." A moment of quiet, before Earl whispered, "You wanna get back into bed?"

This time, a nod, and Earl slowly got to his feet and helped Floyd up with him. The couple sank back into their bed, Floyd nuzzling back into Earl's warmth and safety the second the opportunity presented itself. Earl wrapped an arm around him, kissed the top of his head, and whispered, "You were so brave tonight. And you did so good just now." Floyd made another muffled sound Earl couldn't quite decipher. "It's not healthy to bottle all of that up, baby. I'm here for you, okay? I want you to get better. I love you. I want you to be happy."

Floyd swallowed hard. He would respond, but he was pretty sure he'd lost his voice from all the crying and sobbing. He couldn't find words in the quagmire that his brain had become, anyway. Earl continued, "You're not crazy. I know you think you are. You're not. You've been through a lot, but you're not crazy. And my god, Floyd Isaac, as long as I'm on this planet, I won't let you think you're worthless or useless or broken. I won't. I refuse."

Earl's voice was gentle, low and quiet, but Floyd could hear the sincerity in his words. Hell, he could _feel_ it. His middle name didn't get broken out unless Earl wanted to make a point. He gripped Earl's shirt tighter and looked up at him, eyes still red and sore from crying, and opened his mouth to talk. All that came out was a weak wheeze, and Earl responded by smoothing Floyd's hair and whispering, "Don't hurt yourself. I know you love me, too." He pulled Floyd as close as he could without hurting him. "Go to sleep, baby. I'll be here in the morning. I promise."

Floyd's dreamless but surprisingly sound sleep was a blessing. Come morning, he opened his eyes drearily, and smiled a little when he was greeted with Earl, smiling back at him with a drowsy smirk on his face. "Told you I'd be here," he whispered, giving Floyd a soft good morning kiss to the forehead as was their routine. "You doing okay?"

"... I'll be okay," Floyd answered, reaching out and gripping Earl's hand. "Stay in bed with me for a little, though... please?"

"Way ahead of you."


End file.
